SRL Archive - Blogs and Writing

Well I'm starting up a new blog. It's always been a way to blow off steam.

Any comments and criticisms are welcomed.

A blogger only remains a blogger for the time he blogs for a blogger loses his blogger's identity the moment he stops blogging. For when he stops blogging he no longer blogs and therefore is no more a blogger. But when did we stop being bloggers to become facebookers? When did we trade our love for expression and privacy for the publicness and surfaceness of facebook, where deep thoughtful comments have no place for they are quickly lost among status updates on the latest football game or song you heard ? And it is any wonder that artists nowadays write such dreadful lyrics when a decade ago artists were already selling out to the publishing media, and where they have nowhere to truthfully practice their writing and criticism, and when at every new year the globe's brain just gets worse as it loses its creative oxygen? We've had rock for decades that inspired social revolt, but are we so speechless to today's atrocities that we'd rather listen to lyricless DnB, dubstep, trance, than listen to spiritless Bieber, Katty Perry? Is society so different from that one which the Beatles lived in? When did America turn into such a hypocrite? Upholding peace and freedom, the American Dream, and now look at how hard it is to get a green card? Look at how people are enslaved by America's markets, their dreams clouded by America's Cash Cow gone bitter ? The great defenders of peace joining in almost every war, giving money away when there is so much poverty at home, and yet they seed misery like none other managed to seed with the real estate bubble burst dealt all over the world? They were playing hero for so long we ended up paying for it. And who and where are we fighting for what is right and good, when our students are sucked into the milking machine before they even graduate, where are our fair trade politics going to land us when for so long we relied on buying cheap stuff from Africa in trade for our old garbage we have no use for ? When will this karma consume us, when we run around, aimlessly ? When are we going to make the choice between doing the right thing and just staying on matrix's blue path everyday digging deeper into our own self greed for a faster, smaller machine for which we have no inherent use, but still choose to carry around, why do we surrender ourselves to this metallic future by not going greener today? Care for a plant, for a tree, take down a construction sign, stand up to the big bucks just for once, because those who are in life for the money will leave without much more. No, it is not new, better gadgets we need. We can get better gadgets, make better gadgets, but who will win this war of man, the realist or the dreamer, the scientist or the believer, are we willing to accept that hard work and the right tools will write us the perfect literary piece that will feed our souls for centuries to come? There are good and bad, better and worse choices, and we've done of the all kinds, free to do so in our freedom to choose, whether we chose sin & tragedy over peace & love, we must've felt a certain way for a certain choice, and we were affected by what surrounded us at the time, and when we now put a label on it, this label will be shallower or deeper, and it will have been through changes as surely as sand slips through an hour glass but at least we know those choices seemed to be the right ones at a time, and we can usually realize so before we come to the end of the path we were descending, or ascending. We are gifted with the power of thought and change and the power of change through thought. Certainties are only those we carry with us, and even those can be shook. And when we are shook to the very most of our cores, we might ask ourselves what is right, and what is wrong, and still not have a binary answer to logically guide us every step of the way. Because if it were so it would be to deny ourselves of a multitude of answers and possibilities, for an emotion can neither be right nor wrong, it can only be misdirected, misunderstood or misguided at its worst of times, and it can be funded on much more than a single fact or facts that mathematically do not add up to the expected result, leading all astray from expectations into what one would call a feeling of ecstasy or connection only seen in large crowds of people that all share deep feelings for different reasons and yet are somehow in tune, like a caring church group or anger filled punk rock moshers. We vibe to messages, and remember how in our wrongs, we were somehow right.

-RM

Subscribed.

Well you said a lot, but the part that stuck out most to me was the realist vs. the dreamer. I hope that the realist can see what dreamers see, making everything all the more possible in life.

From: mormonman
Subscribed.

Cool :) Although Blogspot seems to disagree with you.

From: Le Jingle
Well you said a lot, but the part that stuck out most to me was the realist vs. the dreamer. I hope that the realist can see what dreamers see, making everything all the more possible in life.

My point was the realist wouldn't see what the dreamer sees, for even if the realist saw it, he wouldn't believe the reality of the dreamer's dream.

-RM

Very nice read! :)

I subbed this thread. Didn't see a link to blog :/

Edit: fail. found it.

Nice I liked that a lot cheers man.

From: mormonman
I subbed this thread. Didn't see a link to blog :/

Edit: fail. found it.

There's a link? I fail and can't find it :/

From: Kyle Undefined
There's a link? I fail and can't find it :/

No lol he failed because there is no link - that big piece of writing is the blog - that's what he meant

Added link.

-RM

Followed! :)

"A blogger only remains a blogger for the time he blogs for a blogger loses his blogger's identity the moment he stops blogging. For when he stops blogging he no longer blogs and therefore is no more a blogger."

I like that kind of thinking. Will definietly read your block!

A Strange World
Politics is a strange world, a strange world indeed. There are those who don't believe in politics. There are those who believe the politicians are so wretched that there is no point left in hearing out speeches and campaigns every four years when one could be cheering for a sport, worry-free of the intertwining vine of politics. In fact, most youth at this point simply just don't vote, which explains why it is the older generations that hold most the votes - there is a lack of faith, even a lack of hope and interest in the several parties running for office. It might also be that now-a-days we do hear of every scumbag scandal these people face and since it's someone famous, the issue is ten times bigger. Then again, how could it not? How could we ever elect someone who is known to be cheating on their wife, how could we expect this person to remain loyal to his principles and to his word, when they were unable to honour their pact with God, and most importantly, their other half. How could we vote for someone who is on drugs, even if sometimes we are on drugs ourselves? Would we be able to trust their sanity in judgement? Would it be good if the prime-minister just went "What the hell" and did whatever he felt like? Damn, I sure don't know if I want a man who's high as fuck to be ruling over me. But then again, Al Capone made his way in politics. And the mob kept everything under relative control… but those are different times. We were not in the deep hole of cashless-for lack of a better word, poo. And so we start to unravel why politics are so complicated. It is not just the votes, or just the economy, or religion, or philosophy one follows. Politics is, in fact, the mixture of all jobs and all concerns. To pass laws on science, art, electronics, engineering safety, environment, people rights, economical packages. The politician has to deal with it all and mostly likely, does not have training in most of these areas. Which is why he is surrounded by specialists, specialists who them too will have their own agendas, and the corporations where the favourites get their projects approved and the others get their projects just glanced. And before these projects get funding, they'll need a sponsor. And for a sponsor, you need contacts. So it isn't hard to perceive that the projects that actually get passed are simply those with the best teams. Some projects might have been better in a way or another, but it didn't have the people it needed to ever get off the ground. And these are sometimes the same people who spend their lives running on a hamster wheel chasing the big bucks. Because lots of money means you can buy lots of stuff, go to many places, do many things and look gorgeous. The same exact money that buys blood diamonds, the same money that buys child-labour, the same money that buys blackwood desks and votes. The same money that buys sex-slaves and drugs, the same money that buys incinerated land. When have we ever heard of large bucks buying potatoes to feed the family, or blankets to keep them warm at night? We don't, because big bucks other than the once a year charity donation do not care. Big bucks care only about bigger bucks, and the bigger the buck, the bigger the evil. Money controls the world, and since rich people want to remain rich, they sure as hell don't want to change a thing about that. Rich, powerful and in control. America, the land of all riches, the land of the pioneer whose destiny is in none's hands but their own. And what do you do when you're filthy rich? Well, you just keep getting richer, at every passing moment losing further and further notion of what a single buck was. How much does a chewing gum cost you? How long do you chew it for? How many chewing gums per pack? Why would I care, when with the smallest bill in my wallet I could buy well over twenty packs and still not feel my wallet get any lighter? What if I told you that with $500 you could go around the world for a year, doing nothing but pleasurable activities, learning lots of interesting crafts and hearing the best of stories, would you then remember how many chewing gums there are to a pack?

Hope you like it, any ideas / criticism, shoot ahead.

-RM

A Strange World, a very good read and true words :)

I think it needs a re-write. Writing it out sure helped me get a clearer view of who the politician is and what they deal with, but to me this posts is pretty much a hairball of thought that I coughed out cus I no longer could keep it in. I only just recently got into politics, which I find to be rather late considering that I'm turning 21 soon (I think ppl should know about politics when they're sixteen), and so I have been juggling with a lot of ideas on my mind, which is why I needed to write that little article. But I don't find it to be quite as good as the first one. And I'm also watching some inspirational movies, so hopefully, I'll have the time to edit this even tho I'm in exam period. Wishing the best for my readers!

-RM

I certainly felt you were showing more emotion in the first one, the amount of rhetorical questions you were asking showed your passion for the subject. I also liked it better as I can directly relate to the opening lines of the blog.

Having said that, I found the second one easier to understand and though I feel I know nothing about politics (I'm 16), for some reason I knew exactly where you were coming from and even felt the same way.

Can't wait for the edit, though I feel it isn't required ;)

What do you mean by the "what if I told you…$500..blah"?

Your ideas aren't bad, but raw.

Have you ever listened to a Noam Chomsky lecture? You should. I recommend "Militarization of Space".

I would really appreciate you not writing in italics in a single block however. >.< Maybe you could write in simba and put it in simba codes with a double space please? That would make it soo much easier.

From: Grihmm
What do you mean by the "what if I told you…$500..blah"?

I'm not entirely sure but I think he is trying to imply you would appreciate little things in life more.


Correct me if I'm wrong SR M

Paragraphs sure would help. It was a hard read…

I have to agree about young people and politics. I could have voted quite a few times but the more invloved in politics you are the more stress you have. When there is a story on the news or in the papers that catches your eye and you start reading how they want to raise taxes cause there is no money but somehow there is money for their $5mil+ each bonuses. Its f-in ridiculous.

I saw this in the news yesterday, how this woman, whos in the governemnt but I forget her position, was attending a conference in Britain. She was offered a stay at a hotel that was already 5 stars, but no she wanted a better hotel, so instead she checked herself out of that hotel, ordered a driver that charged 1000$ a day to drive her around to the other hotel thats 2km away, and check herself INto that hotel thats 700$ a night. This ofcourse was all payed by the people and the taxes we pay.

Now after this was made public, she payed back 1300$ which was ONLY a small portion of the actual bill she rang up. It was clear she had no intention of paying back until this was reviled.

Its just ridiculous… there are many stories like these. This is why I hate getting invloved in these matters. Ive got enough stress already I dont need any more. Its not like things are going to change anyway. It was also reported that this woman did the same thing a few years back. It was only known until now. And whats going to happen? Absolutely NOTHING, the government said they are standing behind her and that she will be "punished" is what I believe was said. Yeah right….

I think I've rambled on enough…

Might have been interesting. My eyes glazed over partway into the one long stream of words.

All I could think as clicking away was "bet it hasn't been that long since he and the other senior members gave a newbie hell for not posting properly on here and look at the mess he posts."

Sorry, long day.

Crazy shiz man… interesting. Would subscribe but I don't have any blogging accounts
EDIT: Found the link to your blog… Ill check it out now and again! I like the Strange World one better though

From: Bixby Sayz
Might have been interesting. My eyes glazed over partway into the one long stream of words.

All I could think as clicking away was "bet it hasn't been that long since he and the other senior members gave a newbie hell for not posting properly on here and look at the mess he posts."

Sorry, long day.

That hardly seems fair… I'm not that active, barely in favour of the 0% swearing policy and I'm posting in the writing section…. >.<

Its just ridiculous… there are many stories like these. This is why I hate getting invloved in these matters. Ive got enough stress already I dont need any more. Its not like things are going to change anyway. It was also reported that this woman did the same thing a few years back. It was only known until now. And whats going to happen? Absolutely NOTHING, the government said they are standing behind her and that she will be "punished" is what I believe was said. Yeah right….

Well, apparently Charles Taylor, Britain's ex-chief of state just got condemned for war crimes in Sierra Leone, so there's always hope of prosecuting politicians. Perhaps in time there's be such a charge as "Abuse of the People", and there will be a lot more care with your actions.

As for the $500, the idea is that if you aren't greedy and fundamentally materialistic then the value of those $500 can be a lot higher and take you much further on your life journey than if you are deeply materialistic and competitive.

-RM

Well, this is not actually a post in my blog, although I'll probably post it there next.

I was watching the Dead Poet Society, and it just hit me.

I have a devil inside me,
It does not seek redemption,
It does not seek forgival or to make it all right.
I have a devil inside me and it seeks destruction and havoc,
martyrdom for those whom created it.
Lock it down, in the deepest dark corner and it will consume you,
but let it reign free and you will know me.

~RM

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like I've cherished too few memories, times lost among a sea of things I'd rather forget. Disappointment after disappointment drown me into a pointless indulgence of self-pity where expression of the negative is both a temptation and a dampener, a relief but selfish, strength in words but a weakness in the heart.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like friends come and go, but few are the ones who stay. I feel like they remember my face, but don't remember me at all. I feel like they've moved on, but I'm still back here, somehow. I feel like I've moved on, and I'm not here at all.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like every day is just another step on an imaginary ladder with no second floor. I feel like I'll come home, and nobody will open the door. I feel like I'll cry but nobody will see my tears. I feel like I'll go deaf with my own screams, but nobody will check my ears. I feel like my blood will leave messages on the walls, but not even a passer by will read it. I feel like I'll drown in it and still keep breathing.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I tried picturing my funeral; It was silent. Nobody spoke a word. Nobody cried. Nobody cared. Dressed in black, feeling the clock tick, silence so thick, you could hear a heartbeat. Faces covered, not to hide the pain, but the disdain and the misery of mourning someone you won't miss. Veil's covering faces that do not wallow in guilty, but apathy.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this.
Sometimes I feel like I am missing in my life. Often my substance feels this.

Deep and dark are the holes made by rabbits in the seek of a permanent refugee; the mind sometimes feels no longer safe in constant disparity, round and round it seeks the ground no longer bound by its roots but rather by its feet, often led astray made to creep, reconstructed maybe even deconstructed to take the pieces apart reworked to a different work of art not a melting clock, not a ship mooring in its dock; A kite taking flight feeling shiny and bright as the lights reflects the evil deflects caught in its unending spiral breaking out of its constant winds willing wanting of new currents, faced by old torments reduced to thoughtful excrements in a circle that never ends but changes brought to life by new faces.

Wooooow… Dude ur skilled! make more!!

Cheers man :)

Signed my sign but never my soul, it was not me you were looking for, but a goal. Forgive me for I dig these trenches, rotting skin always stenches. Were I care free I would not care, and as I dig this needle deeper, I know I dare. I dare take in this senseless sense that envelops me everyday in everything I do, and I dare not forget albeit having tried, the needle could never have lied.

This is a small one, but very deep, so there might be some development of it into an actual proper post

~RM

I light it up. The ligther? Green Clipper. The stash? Right from next door. The papers? None other than Bob Marley X-Large. And I reminisce. I reminisce and I reminisce. In fact, I reminisce right now on this smokey memory. I reminisce for I wonder why I started, and why I stopped. Why I started? It was around. It was the thing to do on that day, and so I did. I reminisce for time flew from therein. Light, smoke, kill. Light, smoke, laugh, kill. Light, light, smoke, smoke, laugh, kill. Do I even remember it? Sometimes. Did I enjoy it? I'd like to think so. Very often I did. At other times… I still did. Dark days or bright days, the inner tuning of thought and emotion was blissful. Do I ever regret it? I don't think I do. I think I wrongfully blamed it for other factors in my life. I think I had to make a houdini escape out of a life situation and there it was, the hemp sewn rope of winded excuses. The drugs did it, not me. Like any other person in a moment of weakness I found an escape goat of which I am not proud of. In fact, I didn't find it. You did so for me. Everybody else blamed it. I didn't, I blamed myself. But when we came down to it? Heck, blame the drugs, I don't feel like dealing with this drama in a different light. Not yet, not now. And even when I tried not to, they were still blamed, still guilty. Depression? Yes, that's them too. Wandering, meandering thoughts? No it is not because you don't have a fucking clue about what you want to do with your life and how you'll do it, of course its the drugs. Spirituality? What are you doing wasting your time believing in spirits and auras and natural energy and go back to church, be a good boy. Stop doing drugs, and go drink Jesus' blood with the priest. Leave behind your heathen ways. Creative thought? Innovation? No, you're just laying on your sofa trying to figure out the universe from within you mind. No, you are not a philosopher. You are not a philosopher because you're a junky. And because you're a junky no one will care about your reformist ideas to their perfectly stable and functional economical and political studies. No, you are not a revolutionary, you are a junky, and so no one will care to hear about your anti-war policy. No, you are not of the green party, you are a junky, and since you're a junky you can't care about the trees. It is us, the highly ethical and of strong morals who care about the trees we destroy, after all, we right news articles about the junkies we find on trees, and how they were hiding their stash in the tree trunk. No, you are not looking for a change, you are looking to stay the same and live without getting a job. You're a junkie, because you do drugs and you look like a junkie because you do drugs, and you sound like a junkie because you do drugs. And we don't like junkies because you do drugs. Now leave me to my anti-depressants, and my shrinks, and my pedophile priests, and my unpaid benefits, there is nothing you junkies can do for me.

-RM

okay guys, here's another one, 13th August. I realize my blog has had a diversity of article types and has not stuck to its original aim of social critic. I'm about to write another one that is a bit of a social critic but this change of direction will probably remain, that meaning, a private blog with a diversity of thoughts and ideas aimed at sharing experiences, discoveries and sometimes just pure ramblings or poetic writings of my own. I hope you like it all the same.

It's been a while since I put this electronic ink onto electronic paper, it is said to be better to put real ink to real parchment for the feeling of the world is invaluably more real, but I am no longer from the age of pen-and-paper where my writings remain hidden in my under-the-mattress notebook although I've been there too. Is it that I fear not what I write or is it a restrained want to communicate my written thought to a bigger world? I don't know. But it might just be, for sometimes I feel that were I the only one to read my words, what good would they be? Whose life would they be changing, if they were changing even my own? Then again why do we write? Often, we start writing because we used to, and we know it used to make us feel good, other times, just as a hobby, and we search for a direction of our writings, whether it is a social critic or a personal journal or the sharing of an experience. And all these give us exquisitely different kinds of articles, and other times we write for no reason but to settle the swirling thoughts in our head. Sometimes we try to write better, for our texts to have a deeper meaning in between the lines of that which we read. Other times we write point blank, either because we are feeling raw, or because we just need to be stupidly clear. Whichever the reason why we write, we usually love to, and a writer goes through his life with his eyes open to the protagonist and the anti-hero, the sidekick and the villain, the secondary character and the small plot twist, the secondary plot and the total change of direction. And a writer cannot refuse reality, only embellish it and present it in a different light. Is the writer's world real, or fantastical? Is the writer any different to an engineer or a business man who see their live's through numbers and angles, through actions and reactions, possibilities and dreams? And does the writer push for his own vision, or does he merely and meekly describe what is going on around him, and if so, how does he do it? What is his emphasis, what is he trying to achieve? Why do we so often sit in front of our typewriter and have our mind going blank? Do we not know what to think anymore, are we so lost inside our own lives we can no longer find the wire which connects us to the world outside our heads? Are we waiting for someone to throw us the rope back to our words? And so word by word, by reason or imagination every writer reaches a point where he has no more to go on but his own guts - "We truly start living once we are out of our comfort zone" and where we travel, future unknown, undecided because we have crossed the lines of fate and there is nothing written in front of us and it is now time to change our futures. When we reach the limit and have to push further into that part of ourselves of which we have only but dreamed about, we are in fact changing our future, our reality and essentially become a little bit more of ourselves than we previously were. When we face ourselves in the mirror and push through the picture within and without changes and you are meddling with the very innermost atoms of our universe. And some meddle with care, some meddle recklessly, some meddle in a sense of adventure, some meddle thoughtfully and other just let themselves go, and every time you reach that point, this point, you have the chance to do it differently. "If I were there again would I do it any differently?" - Many people say no, I wouldn't change anything about my life because my experiences have made me who I am. But if it is so, why would you not wish to push further and be even more? And the next time you get to that point? Will you push for more, or will you settle for your usual? And that is what not only makes you different from everyone else, but different from yourself as well for you wake up the dormant parts of you, the wanting parts of you, the infinite desires that lay deep within your soul awaiting discovery of this new exciting emotion which you have not yet had the chance to develop. And sometimes you tell yourself "I just couldn't explain it". Essentially everything has three stages - "I lived it, I understood it, I passed it on". When you reach the point of passing it on, your experience finally makes a story, and influence, an image that can drive someone else, and once you pass it on then you are truly ready for the next one, for your are not lost inside your mind trying to understand what or how or why something was this way. And so, word by word, every writer reaches the next point, and only by word will he move on.

~RM